Apart from the odd harrowed-eyed soldier, the long corridors lay empty. I would stay in the central building longer, revisit the infirmary, but Zahir is right. There’s nothing else I can do. The injured are where they need to be, the bodies collected, the families informed. Extra nurses have arrived from the sisterhood. The Longreach emergency team has everything under control. I’d be with Michael already if it wasn’t for that last attempt to force my hand.

I pass Blackriver’s once-immaculate gardens, now a ruin. Heavy sorrow extinguishes my anger. Golden-red light from the waning sun almost resembles spilled blood across the churned soil. Wisps of black smoke from the smoldering Keep drift over the lawn like mourning specters. The sour taste of guilt joins my heartache.

This wasn’t Michael’s fault; it was mine. Even knowing the enemy as I do—his tricky, convoluted scheming—I let him in. Alexei would never enter a Guardian stronghold without superior advantage. The soldiers paid for my overconfidence with their lives.

Though how could I have guessed his plan to use Michael? That the orphan Channeler we found in Lancaster was so rare? So strong? Whisperers were long thought extinct.

I once knew a Channeler who came close. Not a Whisperer but strong and unique. A young man with the talents of a Seer.

A hazel-eyed human I loved with all my heart.

As did the prince.

Jasper was a powerful Channeler who could strip another of their Flame, burn a whole unit of Guardians without consequence to himself. But he could never have defeated fifty soldiers at once. That was beyond anything I thought possible.

How did Alexei know Michael was capable of such a feat?

Michael would have died if I were not there to Ground him. Alexei knew that too.

“Commander.” The two Longreach guards stationed at my door greet me in unison. Both stand straight and nod their salute. I’d prefer to use my own men, but all my soldiers are exhausted, injured, or dead. I only need eyes on Michael. Someone to find Councilor Quinton or myself if he glazes over and heads for the gate. They’re under strict orders not to engage. None of them could stop the Whisperer if he decides to leave.

“Anything to report?” My voice croaks with fatigue. I can’t remember when I last ate.

“No, Commander. He had a shower, then slept all day. We offered to bring food, but he wasn’t interested. About two hours ago, the Whisperer woke from a bad dream, shouted something, made that God-awful vamp noise. But it was nothing. He’s asleep again now.”

The beast rumbles. His anger must seep into my gaze because both guards step backward. “I told you to report any changes to me, Sergeant.”

Garold shakes his head, looking to Private Robbins for support. Robbins checks his shoes.